


Whatever You Want Me to Be

by wilddragonflying



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Public Sex, Unsafe Sex, and he's also conflicted af about the whole android thing at this point, hank hates himself for wanting Connor this much can you tell, inspired by a thing on twitter, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-30 19:00:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19409425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilddragonflying/pseuds/wilddragonflying
Summary: “What aboutyou,Connor?” The words are challenging, the gauntlet being slipped off, ready to be thrown. “You look human, you sound human - but what are you,really?” Hank stalks closer, tossing the verbal gauntlet into the fresh-fallen snow between them.“I’m whatever you want me to be, Lieutenant,” Connor says, one shoulder rising and falling in an artificially careless shrug that, irrationally, makes Hankangrier.“Your partner, your buddy to drink with, or just a machine, designed to accomplish a task.”





	Whatever You Want Me to Be

“What about _you,_ Connor?” The words are challenging, the gauntlet being slipped off, ready to be thrown. “You look human, you sound human - but what are you, _really?_ ” Hank stalks closer, tossing the verbal gauntlet into the fresh-fallen snow between them.

“I’m whatever you want me to be, Lieutenant,” Connor says, one shoulder rising and falling in an artificially careless shrug that, irrationally, makes Hank _angrier._ “Your partner, your buddy to drink with, or just a machine, designed to accomplish a task.”

He’s only had a single beer, so Hank can’t even blame the alcohol for the way he lashes out, fisting his hands in Connor’s goddamned jacket and jerking him forward as he steps forward. “Whatever I want you to be?” he snarls, ignores the brief flash of _red_ at the edge of his vision, at Connor’s temple. “That’s a fucking _lie,_ Connor.”

Connor’s expression twists, something puzzled, almost _frustrated_ flashing across it before he retorts, “Only because I can’t figure out _what_ you want, Lieutenant. Do _you_ even know?”

Hank freezes, abruptly aware of the lack of distance between them, the way he can all but count each individual, _manufactured_ eyelash. He’s jerked Connor in close, can feel every inch of him pressed against his front, and -

And Hank _does_ know what he wants, is the thing. He knows what he wants, and he’d never have asked for it, but if Connor is going to insist…

He doesn’t overthink it, just crashes his lips against Connor’s, a claiming kiss that would be bruising if he were kissing a human. Connor is unnaturally still beneath him until Hank growls, frustrated, and tilts his head, moves one hand to tug at Connor’s hair, and with a gasp, the android catches up with the program. His hands lift to Hank’s jacket, clenching in the material as Hank backs him up. Connor breaks the kiss when his back hits the railing overlooking the river. “Lieutenant - “ he starts, but Hank cuts him off, kisses him hard again, hands fumbling at his jacket, dress shirt, searching out skin.

Connor helps him out once he realizes Hank’s goal, getting the buttons that Hank would have otherwise popped off in his frustration and haste. Hank groans when he finally feels Connor’s skin beneath his hands, smooth - almost too smooth - and slightly chilled from the night air around them. “Tell me what you want,” he mutters, shifting from kissing Connor to dragging his lips over Connor’s jaw, down his neck, tracing where a pulse would jump in a human. When he doesn’t get an answer immediately, he nips at the skin beneath his mouth, smirking when Connor yelps. “Tell me,” he repeats - orders.

“Touch - _Touch me,_ ” Connor says, voice shaky in a way that sounds genuine. “I - Lieutenant, please - “

“Where?” Hank interrupts, pulling back so he can look at Connor, take in the blue flush across his cheeks, the dilation of his pupils, the frantic spinning yellow of his LED. His voice is low, rumbles out of his chest, his throat. “Where do you want me to touch you, Connor?”

Connor makes a noise, low in the back of his throat, that goes straight to Hank’s cock - but when Connor takes Hank’s wrist in his hand, presses Hank’s hand to where there is most _definitely_ a cock pressing against the fabric, hot and hard beneath his palm. “ _Please,_ ” Connor murmurs, his head tilting, mouth seeking out Hank’s for another kiss.

Hank gives it to him with a groan, the hand in Connor’s hair tugging hard enough to angle Connor’s head _just so,_ his other hand squeezing, rubbing over the line of Connor’s cock beneath it. Connor makes a noise that Hank can only describe as _delicious,_ and it makes him impatient. He fumbles with the zipper of Connor’s jeans, flicks the button open with his thumb before nearly breaking the tab of the zipper off in his haste.

Once he has the room to do so, he slips his hand into Connor’s jeans - no underwear, _fuck_ \- and wraps his hands around what feels like a perfectly normal cock. Connor moans at his touch, and Hank repeats it, firms his grip up and strokes him from base to tip and back down, thumb swiping over the head and collecting what feels like precome and slicking the way for his next stroke.

“ _Lieutenant,_ ” Connor sighs, his hands gripping at Hank’s shoulders, almost kneading like a cat’s as his hips roll into Hank’s touch. The sound of his voice, the way he moves under Hank’s touch, makes him abruptly aware that he’s achingly hard.

“Fuck, I don’t have any lube,” Hank swears, cursing himself - though why the fuck he would have any lube on him when he’s over fifty goddamn years old is -

“We don’t need it,” Connor says confidently, interrupting Hank’s train of thought.

“Excuse me? I don’t know what the fuck you think of me, but I am _not -_ “

“I’m designed to work as efficiently as possible, Lieutenant,” Connor reminds him, reaching for Hank’s wrist again with one hand, the other pushing his jeans down around his thighs. He guides Hank’s hand around his hip, behind him, presses his hand in close. “That includes matters of seduction.”

“ _Seduction,_ ” Hank snorts, one finger following the curve of Connor’s ass inwards, searching to see for himself if Connor’s telling the truth. “Yeah, like I’m not about to fuck you in public, bend you over this goddamn railing and fuck you until your synthetic voice gives out just to prove a goddamned _point._ ” He finds what he’s looking for, thrusts two fingers into Connor’s already-wet heat just to see what he does - and when Connor’s mouth drops open, his eyes fluttering shut, head dropping back as his back arches, Hank decides that’s a pretty damn good reaction.

He manages to turn Connor around without removing his fingers, fucking him open just to hear the noises that fall from Connor’s mouth, covering the sound of Hank undoing his own fly, reaching into his pants and pulling his cock out. He withdraws his fingers from Connor, spreads the lubrication gathered on them over his cock before he lays over Connor’s back, guiding Connor’s hands to the railing, encouraging him to brace himself.

The metal of the railing protests under Connor’s hands when Hank guides himself into place, starts pushing into Connor. Hank swears under his breath, unwilling to let himself be any louder and miss any of the noises drifting past Connor’s lips. When his hips are flush against Connor’s ass, Hank pauses, forehead resting against the nape of Connor’s neck, breath gusting out of him in harsh pants. It’s been years since he’s gotten laid, the feeling of Connor just this side of too tight around his cock is almost too much.

Connor’s the one who breaks the silence, pushing back into Hank, head turned as he murmurs, “Lieutenant, we really shouldn’t linger here.”

Hank snorts something under his breath that even he doesn’t pay much attention to, but he does as Connor suggests, pulls back before pushing in, repeating the motion until he’s driving into Connor at a punishing pace, one that he’ll feel in the morning, and one that he’s _determined_ to imprint in Connor’s memories, no matter if CyberLife ever replaces him, resets him, tries to do something to make him anyone but the Connor that Hank’s come to -

To -

Hank slams the door shut on that line of thinking with a particularly vicious thrust of his hips, grunting when it elicits a hoarse cry from Connor, still braced against the railing. He can feel his orgasm approaching - far too quickly, but age and a years-long dry spell are conspiring against him - and he reaches around, wraps a hand around Connor’s cock and strokes in a rough counterpoint to his thrusts. “C’mon,” he grunts, nipping at the join of Conno’rs neck and shoulder. “Fuck, fucking - _C’mon,_ Connor. Come for me.”

As if he’d been waiting for Hank’s command - and maybe he had been - Connor comes, the sound of Hank’s title spilling past his lips absolutely _beautiful_ in the quiet, frozen stillness around them.

Hank swears violently as he comes, hips slamming up against Connor’s ass, burying himself as deeply as he can as he rides out the orgasm that crashes over him in sharp waves. When it’s finally over, he slumps against Connor, sweat making them stick together in the small places where their skin touches - and when Hank catches sight of Connor’s LED flashing red, he pulls away, cursing as he tucks himself back into his pants and zips up. He staggers back towards the bench, ignoring the sound of Connor straightening himself up behind him.

Connor doesn’t speak until he’s got the handle of the six-pack in his hand. “Where are you going?”

“To get drunker,” Hank snaps back over his shoulder without looking.

He’s got… a _lot_ to think about.


End file.
